


Fists Aren't Always For Fighting

by lustforlife



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Aoi is not as badass as he likes to think, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Wood, Suggestiveness, Uruha is his usual self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lustforlife/pseuds/lustforlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, in the kitchen..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fists Aren't Always For Fighting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hereticpop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereticpop/gifts).



> All started with a very interesting discussion with cateris about a certain bulge that's ALWAYS visible in photo shootings. And somebody re-enacting the whole picture. Then it all went lalalalalalalala, Uruha made a blinding appearance and there you go!  
> Plus: thank you hereticpop ! For the much needed kick last night and generally your crackish stories that are nothing short of magnificent!

Uruha just woke up, rolled out of bed, the smell of coffee and tobacco acting as a tractor beam. He's walking into the kitchen, sporting a painful morning wood. His fist inside the boxers, currently squeezing his own balls, he looks totally obscene- like he grew another cock over night.

Aoi is so not impressed.

Aoi is pushing his fashionista wannabe dork glasses higher on his nose because he's reading the comic series in the newspaper and drinking his black coffee with polite slurping noises and can't be bothered.

Uruha grows impatient and feels like his hand is no longer enough so he slides closer to the chair where Aoi sits. So close his crotch is in Aoi's face. 

But the newspaper is blocking the much needed contact- be it visual for now. The sudden obstruction of light makes Aoi look up and notice Uruha sporting a number of things: puppy dog eyes instead of the feral predatory he probably intended, a raging hard-on, a fist in his boxers.

Boxers that are sporting a tiny hole in their imperfect grey cotton wholeness.

Aoi is so not impressed.

Or so he likes to think. Aoi is again pushing his glasses higher up his nose and tries not to gulp because damn Uruha looks so tempting it's not actually true. With feigned discontent Aoi retrieves his reading position, leaving Uruha gaping, a trace of disbelief starting to show. 

Uruha exits the kitchen, pausing in the door enough to drop his boxers, making sure he's bending a little, just a little. 

The chair under Aoi screeches and scratches the floor while it's former occupant rushes after Uruha.

Sunshine through the window makes this day even more promising.

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly my favourite writing, so far.


End file.
